As One Door Closes
by SylvieT
Summary: Brass makes an announcement. Spoilers for 14.22 Dead in his Tracks. If you're still spoiler-free then don't read. Some GSR.


A/N: Spoilers for 14.22 _Dead in his Tracks_. If you're still spoiler-free then don't read on.

This one-shot looks at Brass's future and the decision he may – or not – have taken at the end of the episode. It's an accompanying piece to _Up Against It_, written at the start of season 14 and kind of foretelling of the event. Previous reading of that story isn't necessary, but it might help put some stuff into context. ;-)

Originally it was going to be all about Brass and his announcement, but well, it kind of changed and became GSR half-way through. See what you think; comments are greatly, greatly appreciated, even negative ones.

Thank you, as always, for reading and hanging in there. Not much GSR about these days.

* * *

As One Door Closes

* * *

"When one door closes, another door opens; but we so often look so long and regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us."

-Alexander Graham Bell.

* * *

"What do you think tonight's about, huh?" Greg asked from the backseat.

Sara glanced at Greg in the mirror, then gave Nick riding shotgun a long sideways look before refocusing her eyes on the road. She'd picked both up from CSI on her way over in order to facilitate parking. At the close of shift that very morning, they'd all received the same short text message from Brass with a time and place to meet for drinks and a bite to eat. Sara's mind had been in overdrive ever since.

"I mean, it's nice and everything but…I'm pretty sure we're not here to celebrate his birthday."

"We're not," Sara said, with a glance in the mirror as she stopped at a red light. "His birthday's in January."

"He's leaving, isn't he?" Nick said in his easy drawl, stating the fact rather than questioning it, and Sara looked over at him. "Leaving the force, I mean."

"What, like retiring?" Greg exclaimed with surprise.

Nick's reply was a lift of his shoulders. The light changed, and Sara took a right turn onto the Strip, joining the line of heavy traffic headed north. Greg made a sound, part sigh, part scoff, that conveyed his disbelief.

"I always thought he'd die on the job," he said, and then, "He told you?"

"Not in so many words," Nick replied. "But what else could it be?"

Nick's question remained unanswered. But Sara had asked herself the same question and reached the same conclusion. Ellie's attempted suicide and Brass's reaction to it was still very fresh in her mind. Ever since, Sara had thought change to be on the cards for the police captain, but retirement? She still found the idea hard to come to terms with.

"Well, he's had a lot on his plate recently," was all she could think to say. And then because she was still clutching at straws, "What about a leave of absence?"

"At his age?" Nick's dubious purse of the mouth couple with shake of the head confirmed her suspicions.

"Anyway, must be important if he's asked all of us to be there," Greg piped up quietly, his "Even me," remaining unsaid.

Sara could feel Greg's eyes on her as he spoke and catching his eyes in the mirror she gave him a smile. "I hear Catherine's in town," she said, trying to lighten the sombre mood.

"Well, that certainly explains the choice of venue," Nick said in a chuckle. "I'm glad I put a clean shirt on." He turned around in his seat and beamed at Greg. "Just think about the food and the fact that we won't be picking up the check afterwards."

"Maybe he's getting married," Greg said musingly.

Nick's already wide smile broadened. He glanced over at Sara and winked. "Maybe."

Catherine had called her earlier in the day, giving directions – or rather instructions – as to how to proceed. Sara signalled, then turned into the Eclipse front entrance where all the rich people's cars were displayed for the world to see and where a valet was waiting with his own set of instructions. Greg dipped his head, scanning the brightly-lit hotel façade before his eyes alighted on a Ferrari. "Shame we got shift afterwards," he mused with a sigh.

When the trio were shown to the bar Catherine was standing behind the counter mixing Brass and Doc Robbins drinks. They were deep in conversation, all three with bright smiles on their faces. That section of the bar had been closed off from the public, and they had the place to themselves. Nick and Greg made their way over without ceremony while Sara stood slightly back, watching the scene fondly and thinking that only Grissom was missing for the picture to be complete – Grissom, and Warrick of course. It got to her every time. Her throat grew tight, but she pushed her anxiety aside and plastered a smile on her face before joining her friends.

Greetings were exchanged, more drinks served, the chatter happy and incessant as they caught up with each other. Everybody was putting on a perfect show and if Sara didn't know better she'd almost be fooled. Still, this was no casual encounter and she knew the apparent carefree mood wouldn't last. Fifteen minutes in and Sara noticed Brass check his watch before glancing up toward the bar entrance and then at Catherine. He was looking anxious, almost uncertain, as if worried that one of his guests still hadn't turned up and he'd have to proceed without him.

"DB coming?" Nick asked Brass, seemingly on the same train of thought as Sara.

Brass refocused on the CSI and flashed a brief smile. "He can't make it," he said, "Got called out to help swing – RTC on Boulder Highway with fatalities."

Nick turned to Sara, his brow deeply creased. They both knew _he_ was on call that day, not DB. Catherine came over, regaling everyone with tales of her high life on the East Coast and did anyone want to join her there? Briefly the mood lightened again until, a few minutes later, a hostess walked up to Catherine, quietly announcing that their table was ready whenever they were. Catherine and Brass exchanged a look. "Five more minutes?" that look said, and right on cue, Brass gave an almost imperceptible nod back.

The frown creasing Sara's brow was deep. She looked at all her friends and colleagues gathered there and wondered at who they were still waiting for. Ecklie, of course, but just as the thought occurred she knew it wasn't true. Her heartbeat quickened at the feel of his eyes on her, their gentle caress just like a soft blanket pulled over her on a cold winter's day, even now after all that had happened between them.

The conversation tapered off around her. Brass straightened up, his eyes shifting over to the entrance as a weary smile crept up on his face. His eyes flicked over to her suddenly, soft, apologetic maybe? Had the captain worried she wouldn't come if she knew Grissom did? Was that why he'd kept it quiet? She could feel her friends' eyes glance toward him too then flick back to her, watching for her reaction.

She tried her best to hide her surprise, and avoided their stares. Tonight wasn't about her and Grissom, it was about Brass, Brass who had made a life-changing decision and in uncharacteristic behaviour had gathered everyone around to share it with. So again, she put her feelings aside and put a bright smile on her face, then turned toward Grissom and watched with a tightening in her throat her husband stride over.

_I can do this_, she told herself, _I did for years and nobody knew, not even him._

For an instant, as he covered the distance to the group, their gazes met and Sara felt the old tingle of excitement deep in her belly. Grissom swallowed then cracked a smile, the right side of his mouth lifting up in that shy, uncertain smile she loved so much. His eyes averted, his smile widening with genuine warmth as he focused on Brass and then on the rest of the team.

He was looking a little dishevelled and pasty and uncomfortable, Sara couldn't help noticing as his eyes lingered on her a second longer than on anybody else. The lines around his eyes and mouth had gotten a little deeper, but he hadn't otherwise changed, not really, not in the six months since she'd last seen him at his mother's funeral. He'd been grief-stricken, understandably so, and she'd not been strong enough to be there for him. Well, not in a way that mattered anyway.

"Sorry, I'm late," he said, reaching Brass and Catherine's sides, "I came straight from the airport." He glanced at Sara. "My flight was delayed."

"Thank you for coming," Brass said, "I appreciate it."

Grissom smiled then gave a nod of acquiescence, and Brass extended his hand which Grissom took and shook warmly before the two men fell in an awkward but heartfelt embrace. Then it was Catherine's turn to greet him, a kiss on the cheek followed by a warm hug that he replicated without hesitation when her turn came. She could have stayed there all night long. Greg smiled at her, a silent question in his eyes, and she gave a quiet nod that she was fine.

Not long afterwards, they were led to a private dining room with a round table in its centre beautifully set. Catherine hadn't done things by halves. The light was dim, just enough to give a warm feel to the room. Sara deliberately chose a seat between Nick and Greg and Grissom sat between Brass and Catherine who sat to the left of Nick with Doc Robbins between Brass and Greg.

As soon as the food order had been placed and champagne been brought to the table and poured into tall twinkling flutes Brass stood up, immediately stopping the many conversations around the table. All eyes turned to him, and clearly uncomfortable at all the attention he pulled at the collar of his already loosened shirt. When he picked up his flute Sara noticed his hand was trembling. His expression solemn, he turned to his audience.

"First, thank you all for coming," he said with an awkward pull of his lips into a brief smile and a scan of his eyes around the table. He paused and swallowed, then took a sip of champagne. "As you know, I'm not so good with…public speaking," he added in a nervous laugh. Sara's heart ached for him, but clearly it was an important moment, one he would see through. "You must all be wondering what this is about or maybe not," he chuckled, "but I have news that is cause for celebration and that I wanted to share with you all – my friends and colleagues of many years."

Sara's smile wavered, and her gaze flickered over to Grissom watching Brass intently. Did Grissom know what was coming, she wondered? Had Brass confided in him? Asked his advice on what it was like to be leaving, before he'd made his decision?

"What I got to say won't take long so, huh… Anyways, some of you may have guessed it was coming." Brass glanced at Nick who nodded his head and smiled back encouragingly. "It's been a while coming – well, this past year really. Nancy dying, Ellie going to jail, well, you all know how tough it's been. My heart's not been on the job. I lost my spark, my hunger for the game, the chase." Consciously or not, Brass's eyes lowered to Grissom as he spoke that last sentence.

"A few weeks back, I―I made a decision." He took in a breath. "I―I put in my papers. As of tonight I got a week left, you know, on the force before I turn in my badge and gun. To be honest, I feel…liberated." Brass gave an uneasy laugh and shook his head, as if only _he_ got the joke. He paused and once again glanced to his right toward Grissom, only confirming Sara's suspicions that the two had spoken.

"Once I made the decision," Brass went on, but Sara's eyes were fixed on Grissom who had a sad, faraway look on his face, "it all fell into place. Thirty-five years of service in the force…" Brass paused and cleared his throat, and when Grissom focused back on his old friend Sara did too. Brass's eyes shone with emotion and Catherine reached up for his hand, squeezing it encouragingly.

"Anyway, Ellie comes first now. I'd been wondering – for a long time – how to be a cop and a father to Ellie, and I realise now that I can't be both. Any guy can be a father but it takes a real man to be a dad, right?" His attempt at levity fell on deaf ears, and his expression sobering he pushed on. "Maybe if I'd taken that stance sooner, a lot sooner, when she was a little girl, none of what she did would have happened."

Brass chuckled to himself again and then lifted both hands up, palms out, as if in surrender. "I know, I know, I'm a little late in the game, but better late than never, right? It's time I was a father, rather than a cop." He nodded his head several times as though still trying to convince himself, and pinched his lips in a thin smile. "She needs her dad. I'm all she got, and she's all I got. Well, aside from all you good people here."

His eyes swept round the group, stopping at everyone to make contact. "Cos I'm counting on you all, you know, to see me through the next few months – hell, the next few years," he added in a mirthless chuckle. "I'll still be around, just not as much as I was before, so you keep in touch, all right?" His voice cracked, and he blew out a breath, then tried a smile and shook his head, visibly struggling to contain his emotion.

Catherine squeezed his hand again, then pushed to her feet and wrapped her free arm around his shoulder in a warm, friendly hug. Grissom stood up too and patted his hand to Brass's shoulder, offering comfort. "So let's raise our glasses," Brass said, turning back to the rest of them, "and celebrate my happy retirement."

"To a new chapter in your life," Grissom said, raising his glass to Brass before everyone quietly followed suit.

Brass had tried to put a spin on his news, and maybe he was doing the right thing, but it didn't stop Sara from worrying that he wasn't and feeling sad at the loss of a good detective and police captain and close friend and colleague in the job. Truth be told, Brass had always been a little more than all these things to her; he'd been there for her, looking out for her like any good father would do.

She had no doubt that Brass could – and would – be a good father to Ellie, if only she let him. Would she let him, she wondered? She hoped Ellie wouldn't change her mind and reject her father's offer to help, because if she did, if Brass failed in his new endeavour, then what would he have left in the world? _Us_, she thought, looking round at the smiling faces around the table, he'd have them – his friends.

The mood during the meal was jovial, if slightly subdued, and the food delectable. In between conversations, Sara's eyes would wander to her husband and she'd covertly watch him, a million and one question as to his wellbeing swirling in her mind. She tried to glean clues as to his thoughts and mood but his mask was firmly on, keeping her in the dark.

She just wanted to swap seats with Catherine for a second and ask where he was at, whether his work was still keeping him happy and fulfilled; how long he was in town for this time, where he was staying. She wanted to ask him whether he'd moved on and met someone else, or missing her, as she did him, still. After all he'd never filed for divorce and neither had she. She was still Mrs Grissom – even if on paper only, and in her heart, of course. She sighed; would that deep, aching longing she'd always and still felt for him ever stop?

There was a gentle tap on her arm and she turned round, looking straight at him. She made herself smile and nod her head when wordlessly he asked whether he could take the seat Greg had, unbeknown to her, vacated. Now she had her chance, she couldn't think of a single thing to ask him. They hadn't spoken since Betty's passing, and the situation then hadn't lent itself to profound, meaningful talk.

"Where are you staying?" she asked, thinking it best to keep the conversation on safe, neutral grounds.

His face was soft, smiley. "I was going to ask Catherine if she'd have a room. Here, I mean," he added quickly when he felt his words could be misconstrued. He sighed. "I wasn't sure I was coming―should be coming, but then―"

"No, it's good you came. Good for Jim. He's been having a tough time of it lately."

He nodded. "I know. We've…" his shoulder lifted, "been in touch…a little."

_Which was more than he'd done with her_, she thought. Her smile stiffened. Her eyes lowered and she nodded her head again at a loss as to where to go from there.

"How are you?" There was genuine warmth in his voice, genuine interest, and she looked up, forcing a smile.

"I'm good." The lie rolled off easily these days. "I'm…" His gaze was piercing, probing, and she faltered. Who was she kidding? "I'm doing okay."

He gave a nod. His mouth opened, then shut. "Work?"

Her smile returned, wry, disappointed. "Work's good." She glanced away at Brass talking with Catherine and making her laugh. "It's not going to be the same," she said turning back to Grissom, "Without Brass looking out for all of us."

"It was time," Grissom mused, his eyes flicking over to Brass. "Time for him to move on."

Sara watched him as she pondered his reply for a moment, wondering whether that was how he felt too, only looking away when he turned back to her. "How long are you staying?

"A couple of days. I had paperwork to sign anyway – I've sold my mother's condo…" his words trailed off in a sigh. "I should go back," he finally said.

She swallowed her pain, her disappointment and bitterness. "Gil, why don't you stay at the house?"

He fixed her with a puzzled look.

"It's your home too."

He smiled. "It's fine. I don't mind staying here. As I said, it's only for a couple of days."

She glanced down, nodded her head. "It'd only be the spare room, and you'd have to make up the bed." Her shoulder lifted; she checked her watch. "I got shift in an hour anyway."

He watched her at length, then shook his head. "Sara, I can't. You know, I can't."

Why not? She wanted to ask, but didn't. If he stayed, then maybe they could have that talk he―they had been avoiding ever since the breakup. She reached inside her purse on the back of the chair for her set of keys and a pen and then wrote down the latest code for the alarm on her napkin. "I'm sure Catherine, or Brass, won't mind giving you a ride."

His eyes lowered to the napkin and keys she was holding out to him, and with a grudging nod he took them. "You sure?"

As they say, when one door closes another one opens. They'd dodged the issue long enough. If Brass could do it, then so could she.

It was hard, but she made herself hold his gaze as she said, "I'm sure."


End file.
